


Rumour Has It

by jellybeanforest



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Bottom Yondu Udonta, Brief Mentions of Past Slavery, Brief mentions of past rape, Emotional Intimacy, Friendship, Hatesex, Humor, Implied Top Kraglin Obfonteri, Just Kidding... Including Yondu, Kraglin/Every Man He's Ever Known for Five Minutes Except Yondu, M/M, Manipulative Peter Quill, Minor Pseudo-Incest, No underage, Past Victim-Blaming, Ravager Week 2018, Shitty Rationalization of Sexual Harassment, Slut Shaming, Slutty Kraglin Obfonteri, Social Isolation, Virgin Shaming, crackfic, so many rarepairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:39:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: Kraglin has a certain reputation.In which Kraglin is the town bicycle, and Yondu can’t get a ride.Based on a prompt by obfonteri (aspiringenjolras)





	1. Literally Everyone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obfonteri (aspiringenjolras)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiringenjolras/gifts).



> I adapted this prompt for Ravager Week 2018 because it has a lot of Ravagers in it. For anyone looking for the next chapter of “Robbing the Grave,” it's about 70% done and should be out probably this weekend.
> 
> Original Prompt: I want a fic where Kraglin literally sleeps with every single other Ravager on the ship before he even looks in Yondu’s direction. Some of them are one night stands, others are on-and-off flings that last a few weeks, he’s in a committed relationship with Halfnut for over a year before they suddenly want to kill each other. Finally Yondu, who has been obviously trying to get the oblivious Kraglin’s attention for YEARS makes a move because there’s literally no one Kraglin hasn’t been with. And then he catches Kraglin and Peter getting it on in a storage closet.
> 
> I decided to play the concept straight (but with plenty of humor), so fair warning: This fic contains potentially problematic themes such as slut shaming, virgin shaming, and rationalization of continued pursuit of a disinterested party (i.e. sexual harassment). Proceed at your own risk. To obfonteri, I’m not sure if this is what you wanted, but it’s what you got.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraglin gets around.

During their weekly strategy meeting, Captain and First Mate pore over potential upcoming jobs, expenses, and profits for the quarter. Growing weary of projections showing only slim returns, Yondu waves away the hovering blue holographs and charts, shutting them off.

“That’s enough work fer tonight, Kraglin,” Yondu says. “Let’s say you an’ me have a li’l fun ‘fore we turn in.”

“What did ya have in mind, sir?”

“The usual, to start,” he suggests, removing his coat. “Make it double to keep it interestin’…”

 

* * *

 

Kraglin is close. So very close.

He holds his breath as Yondu carefully eyes the target and lines up the tip, fingers loosely grasping before he hurls the projectile across the room.

_Bullseye._

“That’s 3,300 credits on yer tab,” Yondu remarks, dropping heavily onto his bed and discretely running sweaty palms over dark furs.

They both know he’ll never collect.

Still, Kraglin’s shoulders slump low as he strides towards the board to retrieve their darts. “I’ll win next time. I’m due.”

“Not how it works. Darts’re a game o’ skill an’ yer outmatched. Best quit now ‘fore I sell ya to the Chitauri fer stew-meat to pay off yer debts.”

Kraglin rolls his eyes, peering at Yondu over his shoulder. “I ain’t Quill, ya know. That threat don’t work on me.”

“You see his face last I dangled ‘im over the soup vat fer near crashin’ his M-ship inta dockin’ bay? He squawked like a Pokran an’ his lip got all wibbly,” Yondu reclines back and scratches his balls, chuckling to himself at the fond recollection. “That shit never gits old.”

“I keep tellin’ ‘im if he really wants the crew ta stop anglin’ fer a taste, he should stop saltin’ hisself with his own tears, but he don’t learn too well,” Kraglin says idly while scrolling through available vid titles. “Okay, we got ‘Death Factor 5: The Killening’ or ‘Return to Blood Ridge: The Final Assault.’”

“Death Factor 5; I hear tell it has a ridiculous scene involvin’ a Badoon with spinnin’ buzz-saws fer legs runnin’ on his hands, an’ the main actor changed halfway through due to accidental dismemberment, like we ain’t goin’ ta notice.”

Kraglin shrugs, “They could’a done a better job castin’ the replacement. At least the same height… or species.”

He queues up Yondu’s selection and presses play, settling in next to his captain.

“Yeah, well, who watches vids fer consistency, characters, or plot when you can have incompetence an’ weaponized limbs?” Yondu takes out the hip flask buckled to his side, tips it to his lips for a deep gulp, and messily wipes his mouth on his stained sleeve before passing it to Kraglin who similarly imbibes.

“As Pete would say: fancy assholes with sticks up their butts.” Kraglin lightly knuckles Yondu’s shoulder. “Drink every time someone dies?”

“Naw, we’ll be dead o’ blackened livers the first twenty minutes. Maybe somethin’ that happens less often.”

“How ‘bout when one o’ ‘em falls over when a punch don’t connect?” Kraglin suggests.

“I said _less_ often,” Yondu shifts in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position atop the lumpy mattress. “Fuck it, let’s just git some more booze an’ drink every time they call a character by the actor’s name instead.”

“Sounds like a plan… three bottles ought’a do it.”

 

* * *

 

The next day, Kraglin leans over, clutching his pounding head as he gazes at the grey protein gruel inches from his face.

“Morning, Kraglin!” Peter seems chipper as usual when he clanks his tray down next to the older man. The music coming out of his headphones is soft, but it might as well be a bullhorn blaring directly into Kraglin’s ear.

“Fuck, Petey! Can’t chu keep quiet fer two minutes,” Kraglin admonishes the youth. The customary sharp elbow to Pete’s side is slightly off-mark and less forceful than usual.

“Late night?” Peter asks, scraping spoon against bowl much too loud for Kraglin’s comfort.

“I said quiet, brat,” Kraglin says as he opts to push his own bowl away and rest his forehead against the cool table in front of him.

“Just trying to make conversation,” Peter murmurs, but he manages to eat silently out of consideration for his friend’s weakened condition.

Kraglin closes his eyes, attempting to will himself to get over his monstrous hangover. Towards the end of Death Factor 5, the other characters had taken to calling the replacement actor by the original’s name. _It ain’t his name,_ Kraglin had pointed out. _It still counts_ , Yondu had insisted. Both drank, as per their agreement.

His only solace is that Yondu likely suffered alongside him for his idiotic decision.

“Kraglin, did ya git those specs we talked 'bout last night uploaded to the assignment board?” Yondu’s voice says from above.

Kraglin looks up. The fucker’s eyes aren't even bleary with sleep deprivation. He glares at his annoyingly-sober, perfectly-functional captain.

“Yes sir,” he grumbles.

Yondu simply smiles, showing off his crooked yellowed teeth, as he pats his first mate on the shoulder. “Good man.”

 _The sadistic bastard did this on purpose,_ Kraglin thinks sourly, head in one hand as he watches Cap'n walk away towards the Bridge.

“You going to eat that?” Peter asks him, indicating his forgotten breakfast.

Kraglin considers finishing it out of spite, but just the thought of swallowing that cooling gelatinous slop makes him queasy. He slides it towards Peter instead, who digs in without further comment.

 

* * *

 

Yondu forces Kraglin to work his full shift, refusing to show leniency towards his first mate’s compromised constitution. He never made allowances for such softness in his crew, regardless of his own personal feelings about certain individuals. To his credit, Kraglin understood the necessity of indiscriminant rigidity in Yondu’s discipline. He just wished Cap’n applied his principles evenly.

“Hey Yondu, I think I need to go to Medbay, I’m not feeling too good. Must’ve been that double helping of mystery porridge,” Quill complains, rubbing his stomach as he approaches Cap’n.

“Git back to yer station, Quill,” Yondu orders, swatting the back of the boy’s head. Kraglin doesn’t miss the small tablets, stark white against blue skin, which Yondu palms into Peter’s hand when he forcibly leads him back, but he averts his eyes just the same, pretending not to notice the rare display of mercy.

When his shift is over, Kraglin ambles back towards his bed amongst the officer stacks to turn in early.

For his part, Yondu heads towards the common room, to mingle with his men. It was a smart habit to cultivate for someone in his position. It served to improve morale by fostering close bonds between captain and crew as well as helped him keep a finger on the pulse of gossip, just in case mutiny was brewing amongst the lower ranks.

As was common in their circles, the off-color conversation shifts towards sex, specifically swapping notes on where to get the best sex.

“Tell us: Who’s the best lay ya ever had,” Taserface eggs on Scrote with a hearty nudge against his shoulder.

“Best I ever had?” The other man strokes his chin in contemplation. “I’d say that whore on Floryn, the big ‘un with the accent an’ cock-head smooth as velvet. But a close second’s got’a be the first mate.”

Yondu smirks at Scrote’s admission. The man must be significantly less ‘well-traveled’ than Yondu had assumed if Kraglin ranked so high. Yondu liked the skinny git well enough, but objectively, he was all hairy hide stretched taut over bone with barely any ass to speak of. He is about to say as much when he is interrupted by Horuz.

“Yeah, when people say he got a silver tongue, they ain’t talkin’ ‘bout his negotiatin’ skills. Kraglin is definitely the best on the Eclector. Hands down,” he says. Taserface nods his agreement, a slight smile tugging the corner of his mouth that could almost be mistaken for a sneer.

 _Horuz and Taserface, too?_ Yondu thinks in confusion. If his men were fantasizing about _Kraglin_ of all people and crediting him as the pinnacle of their sexual conquests… they must be going a touch too long between ports. He should probably schedule more frequent stops, for the sake of crew sanity of course.

“No question. The man has the softest mouth ever I felt,” Oblo concurs.

_Wait a minute._

“Ain’tchu into women?” Yondu asks him, skeptically.

“Have you seen his purty baby blues an’ delicate wrists, Cap’n? No one’s _that_ straight. He’s fucked most of the crew. Blown damn near all o’ us, well all o’ us ‘sides baby Quill here.”

“Hey! I’m 18. Clearly an adult,” Peter pipes up.

“Right, li’l Quill,” Oblo says condescendingly, ignoring Peter’s pout. “Anyways, _everyone_ knows the man gives the best blow jobs on the Eclector.”

Horuz chimes in, “You don’t have ta tell Cap’n that. He’s known Kraglin fer longer than most o’ us. They’ve prob’ly fucked in every room and storage closet on the Eclector. Prob’ly had to invent new positions so as not to git bored. Lucky sonuvabitch. Who knows what freaky shit they git into after all these years, eh Cap’n?”

Truth told, Yondu didn’t because they hadn’t… fucked, that is.

Ever.

Of course Yondu knew Kraglin got around. He’d been complaining about his ex, Halfnut, not too long ago shortly after they broke up for the third time in as many months. Yondu had offered to abandon the guy planetside on their next shore leave just so Kraglin would shut up about him, but Kraglin had declined, saying that it would rob him of the opportunity to skin the fucker live next time he loudly cleared his throat while Kraglin was talking. He was still unsatisfied he had only gotten to nick his scalp _just a little_ before Tullk prised him off his now-former-paramour.

And sure, before that, Yondu had caught him mid-coitus with assorted Ravagers a time or six in little-used storage closets, but… everyone? _Literally_ everyone?

–Except Yondu.

Quill didn’t count for obvious reasons.

…Was he really that unappealing?

Oblo misinterprets Yondu’s stunned silence and crisis of self-reflection as surprise that his surreptitious arrangement with the local whore had been discovered.

“C’mon Cap’n, all ‘em ‘strategy meetin’s’ behind closed doors? Not even sure why ya bother with secrecy. Ain’t no man on crew dumb enough to think ‘strategy meetin’’ ain’t code fer sex.”

“Wait… Really?” Quill’s eyes boggle large as saucers. “I thought you guys were just friends.”

“Like I said, ain’t no _man_ dumb enough,” Oblo repeats, patting Quill on the shoulder. Peter shrugs off the patronizing contact with a scowl.

Yondu grunts noncommittally in response and resolves to remedy the situation immediately. His first mate apparently unzipped his pants for all comers at the slightest provocation. He’ll just let Kraglin know he’s interested, fuck him, and maybe then he’ll see what all the fuss is about.

Really, how hard could it be?


	2. Blue Aster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu attempts to flirt his way into Kraglin’s pants.

The problem becomes apparent almost immediately.

Kraglin is his friend, but he’s also his first mate, his subordinate, and this imbalance of power is naturally ingrained in their dynamic. Simply put: Yondu gives the orders; Kraglin follows. However, unlike other duties, Yondu can’t very well _order_ the man to strip, lie down, and let Yondu have his way with him. Kraglin has to want it, too. This operation requires delicacy, finesse… fucking _romance_.

By the stars, Yondu Udonta has to flirt. Using words.

He’s fucked.

“Yer lookin’ real good, Kraglin,” Yondu says the following day as he sits down next to his first mate during morning mess.

“Aye Cap’n. Just needed a li’l rest to recoup.”

“Yeah, you really did a number on him yesterday,” Quill interrupts, unhelpfully, from the other side of the table. “Kept him up all night long, and then forced him to work first shift. Slavedriver.”

Yondu scowls at the youth. The boy really has no idea.

Quill continues, blissfully unaware of his faux pas, “Anyways, Kraglin, buddy, I got you an extra sweet ration bar, because I know they’re your favorite and all.” He slides it down to Kraglin.

“Thanks, Pete,” Kraglin replies, pocketing the small gift.

Quill smiles, “Don’t mention it.”

Yondu narrows his eyes at the boy, pushing his own ration bar towards Kraglin while maintaining eye contact with Quill, silently warning him off his quarry. “Here.”

“Only you like the worm-flavored ones,” Peter points out, blithely.

Yondu _almost_ regrets saving his sorry hide.

“Uh, no… no, that’s okay. These are… good, too,” Kraglin accepts Yondu’s grub-flavored treat. “Thanks, Cap’n.”

Unfortunately, that is not the last time Quill manages to cock-block Yondu.

While sitting at the nav console later that same day, Kraglin stretches his back, puffing out his chest, and cracking his neck first to the right than left.

Yondu slinks over, approaching him from behind, and lays his course hands on Kraglin, one on each shoulder, giving him a little rolling squeeze. Kraglin goes rigid then relaxes slightly when he recognizes Yondu’s arms.

He leans over to murmur low and gruff into Kraglin’s ear, “Tense, are we?”

“If you’re done sexually harassing your employees, I could use some actual direction on this, Yondu,” Peter says blandly, and much too loud. Horuz sniggers from the corner, but immediately falls silent when Yondu turns a withering glare in his direction.

“I thought Kraglin would like a shoulder massage. I need m’ first mate in tip-top form, an’ these chairs ain’t ‘xactly er-go-nomic,” Yondu says, defensively, but he pulls back, refraining from touching Kraglin any further.

“Then where’s my massage? I think I’m getting a crick in my neck,” Peter complains, rubbing the juncture between his neck and shoulder in an exaggerated manner.

 _I’ll give ya a neck massage_ , Yondu thinks, imagining the satisfaction he’d feel throttling the boy. Instead, he cuffs the back of his head. “Git back to work, Quill.”

And so it was all week.

Perhaps Yondu needed to be more _assertive_ in his pursuit.

“So… Kraglin, how ‘bout you stop by my quarters later tonight?” He asks him in advance of their scheduled weekly meeting.

“Yes, sir. Want me to bring the specs fer upcomin’ jobs? I think we can increase our revenues by 15% if we–”

Yondu cuts him off. “Naw, I was thinkin’ we could have ourselves a night off, maybe have a bit o’ fun…” His voice is low and gravelly as he lightly cups Kraglin’s elbow then suggestively strokes his upper arm.

Kraglin gives him a small, knowing smile in return.

Yondu feels elated at Kraglin’s acceptance of his advances. It had been a while since he had actively pursued anyone, choosing instead to either let others pick him up or pay a professional up front, but perhaps Yondu is not so rusty after all. In fact, based on his current performance (sans any meddlesome Terrans), he reckons he’s fuckin’ fantastic, a natural, or in Quill’s vernacular, a real ‘Kevin Bacon.’

“Lookin’ fer a rematch so soon? I almost had chu last time,” Kraglin says, ribbing his captain lightly with his captured elbow.

Yondu’s smile dims fractionally. “I was thinkin’ we could try somethin’ a li’l diff’rent.”

“…Checkers?” Kraglin suggests.

“Nothin’ competitive, at least not in the traditional sense o’ the word.”

“We still have _Blood Ridge_ , but no more drinkin’. Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but I could use a break. Ain’t as young as I used ta be.”

Yondu frowns. _Fuck subtlety._

“Naw, perhaps somethin’ a li’l more ris-qué, if yer up fer it o’ course,” Yondu says smoothly. Kraglin’s eyes widen in confusion, so he clarifies further, “By risqué, I mean sex. Raunchy, dick-pumpin’, ass-slappin’ sex. But only if ya want’a.”

Kraglin looks bewildered, his metallic buckteeth worrying his bottom lip. Yondu stares at that small motion, struck with a sudden, ridiculous longing to suck that plumped mouth. “You sure ‘bout that?” He finally asks, his tone uncertain.

Despite himself, Yondu is delighted, positively giddy, like a virginal teenager on the cusp of his first lay.

“Positive.”

 

* * *

 

 _It’s only Kraglin_ , Yondu has to remind himself several times throughout the day as he prepares for their long-awaited sexual encounter. _Only smelly, slightly-dopey, too-skinny, loyal-to-a-fault, positively-wonderful, dead-sexy Kraglin._

Huh, perhaps it had been a while since he’d gotten laid.

Still–

 _It’s not a big deal,_ he tells himself, as he commandeers a fresh soapcake from the commissary. _I'm just being considerate is all,_ he thinks when he lays out fresh leathers for the night on clean sheets. However, by the time evening mess rolls around, he’s so excited, he wouldn’t have been able to eat even if he wasn’t purposely fasting in preparation for his night with Kraglin.

Peter observes his lack of a meal tray. “Are you sick or something?”

“Why? Ya worried ‘bout li’l ol’ me, son?” Yondu says, grinning while crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat.

“Well yeah. If you croak, the chances of the crew eating me triple. I know Horuz at the very least has been gunning for me since I stepped foot on this ship, and if you die, he’ll try to take a bite before your body’s cold.”

“Oh boo hoo, Quill,” Yondu taunts him. The boy is so stupid he can't see the obvious solution to that little problem. “They goin’a eat chu? Well, eat ‘em right back.”

As usual, he had to think of everything.

By the promised hour, Yondu is ready. He had skipped evening mess hall, dispensed quality fatherly advice, cleared his bed of any rogue trinkets, straightened his sheets and furs, and showered or at least managed to scrape off the top layer of grime, all done with five minutes to spare. He spends the remaining time positioning and repositioning his body into a series of alluring poses before settling on casually sprawling out across his bed, his best smoldering face turned towards the entrance.

Unfortunately, when the door finally slides open revealing the man of the hour, Yondu is disappointed to see Kraglin’s attention elsewhere, engrossed in a handheld datapad he’s nervously scrolling through.

“Okay, I wasn’t sure what chu like, so I picked out a wide selection fer ya to choose from. We got _Assblasters 9_ or _Real Sexxx: C-ass-ting Couch_ , or if you want somethin’ to laugh at, there’s _Ass-apalooza_ or _Return to Butt Ridge: The Final Ass-sault_ , which is a porn parody of that Blood Ridge sequel we haven’t seen yet, so maybe not that one. No spoilers an’ all.” Kraglin says, thumbing through additional titles in his personal media library. “Ooo, I rather enjoyed this one: _Blue Aster_. Ya know… Now that they’re all together like this, I’m kind’a seein’ a pattern.”

He looks up to find Yondu miffed at being ignored. “What’re you doin’?”

“Just gittin’ comfortable,” Yondu replies, face morphing from annoyed to sultry once again.

“Oh… could ya move over then, unless ya want me right on top o’ ya.”

_Hell yes._

“So… ya brought porn,” Yondu observes instead, scooting to one side.

“Yeah, fer movie night like you asked fer. Thought we could mute it an’ make up the dialogue,” Kraglin responds.

When Yondu looks crestfallen at his suggestion, Kraglin offers, “Well, if ya don’t like any o’ these, we could watch somethin’ else. You got a favorite ya want’a show me?”

“…How ‘bout you just put on that last one, Blue Ass-ter,” Yondu replies, defeated.

“Yes sir,” Kraglin says. He connects to the projected display and selects the requested holo-vid.

Yondu’s stomach rumbles loudly, rebelling against its missed dinner. “And pass me that tin o’ beasties.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Kraglin says, tossing him the requested snack. “This one’s real popular back on Xandar due to the ongoin’ war with Hala. Rodin the Accuser, commander o’ the Blue Aster, has a hard-on fer gittin’ dicked by Xandarian foot soldiers o’er his own control console. It’s a good time, ‘cept fer all the hammer puns.”

Yondu grunts through a mouthful of beasties.

_Puns. Delightful._

It starts off well enough, with Kraglin narrating the opening shot as Rodin while Yondu takes the role of Turhin, the hapless young Xandarian private, but five minutes into the first sex scene, Kraglin grows quiet until he stops altogether and simply stares at the screen. Yondu is about to ridicule him for being such a prude, but then he sees it.

Rodin the Accuser, the man currently being “hammered” by a lanky slip of a Xandarian, is blue, bald, and bears a striking resemblance to present company. Yondu’s attention narrows in on Kraglin’s groin as his companion shifts slightly in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his inconvenient erection from notice within the tent of his lose pants.

Yondu clears his throat. “This… uh, really gits ya goin’, eh?”

“I have no idea what yer talkin’ ‘bout, sir,” Kraglin replies, pulling his knees up to further hide the source of his embarrassment from view.

“You like ‘em blue.” _Like me_ goes unsaid. He reaches out to caress Kraglin’s nearest shoulder.

Kraglin shrugs off the contact. Yondu doesn’t force the issue.

“Not in particular,” Kraglin rushes to assure him, a bit forcefully. “It’s jus’… I dunno. Porn’s stimulatin’, I guess.”

They continue to sit motionless, in awkward sexually-charged silence through the entire scene, watching their cinematic dopplegangers thrust pink into blue, moaning in silent ecstasy, and performing a credible pantomime of Yondu’s deepest desires.

“So, uh… I’m just goin’a let myself out,” Kraglin says after. Yondu doesn’t stop him as he exits his quarters into the darkened hallway, heading the wrong way. When the door slides close, Yondu falls backward into his bed, disappointed and dejected.

Maybe, just maybe, this entire mission was doomed to failure before he had even hatched the idea of sleeping with his first mate. Kraglin clearly didn’t find him attractive, unlike virtually every other man on the Eclector. Intellectually, Yondu knew he couldn’t be angry, not really. Kraglin had the sole right to choose who had access to his own body based on whatever criteria he deemed fit, and frustrating though it was, he had decided to exclude Yondu and Yondu alone.

He knew all this, and yet it didn’t lessen the sting of rejection. Yondu’s pride is wounded, but he will recover in time.

Then again, Kraglin was headed in the direction opposite from the officer barracks, towards the shower block instead, he realizes suddenly. Perhaps he should follow Kraglin to… not exactly apologize, but maybe do _something_ to dispel the awkward tension between them…

…Or _someone_. Who knows? Perhaps Kraglin will prefer his ass, unfuckably-ugly it may be, to a cold shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does he have to lose? Besides what little self-confidence he has left, that is.


	3. Player Two Has Entered the Game!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu has an unlikely rival for his first mate’s attentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I needed to add a flashback scene to give context to later dialogue, so I’ve added the appropriate tags. This flashback is essentially the first time Kraglin and Yondu meet. It contains some mentions of slavery (with very brief allusions to rape) as well as a brief, non-graphic, arguably-more-insidious incident of acquaintance sexual assault (while a newly-freed Yondu is still learning how to set boundaries) from a fellow crewman (not Kraglin) followed by a bit of victim-blaming social isolation. If you don’t want to read it, you can skip to the present day marker. The flashback is not 100% necessary to understand what’s going on. It just gives a little more background into why Kraglin never got around to sleeping with Yondu early in their friendship and how it kind of shaped their later relationship. It also lends more weight to Yondu’s disappointment with Peter towards the end of this chapter.

**Sixteen Years Earlier**

The first time Yondu Udonta is allowed to say “No,” he has been on the Starhawk three weeks. An Aakon recruit named Myco had asked him pointblank if he wanted to fuck. He had used his magic word “No,” but the man had been insistent, plying him with compliments and cloyingly-sweet ration bars, the taste of which he favored in those early days (but would later make him ill). _Why won’t chu just let me show ya a good time?_ he had asked. _C’mon… I’m so nice to ya. Don’t chu want someone to treat chu sweet fer a change?_ So, Yondu’s serial “No”-s became a “Yes,” and he spent an hour in the showers after. When Stakar found out, Yondu never saw Myco again, for which he was grateful, but he also became something of a social pariah. The other men whispered about Cap’n’s “special relationship” with the ex-slave and avoided him, which was fine by Yondu because he didn’t need anybody.

And then Kraglin came along, and he realized just how lonely he had been.

“Yondu… This here is Kraglin, Kraglin Obfonteri,” Stakar introduces a young beanpole of a new recruit. He’s no more than 16, but he passes for 19 by virtue of his scruffy visage.

Kraglin smiles, hand tentatively raised to give his new companion a small wave. Yondu bares his teeth.

“Yondu, be nice. No biting this one,” Stakar orders, pushing Kraglin forward. The youth seems ready to flee, but he’s clearly more afraid of Captain Ogord than he is of his infamous pet because he manages to stand his ground.

Yondu looks disappointed.

“…Fine.”

That first night they bed down together, as was normal for crew. Yondu can’t sleep, shrinking away from any small incidental touch.

“Stop squirmin’ an’ go the fuck to sleep,” Kraglin says groggily from his side of the cot, lightly kicking Yondu’s leg.

“Don’t chu want’a…” Yondu can’t finish that sentence.

“Not fall asleep durin’ my shift tomorrow? Yeah, I do. Now stop tossin’ so at least one o’ us can stay awake next shift.”

Yondu isn’t stupid. He knows Kraglin was essentially ordered to befriend him, but despite that fact, he grows to like spending time with the man. The feeling is mutual.

“We got a spare hour or so,” Kraglin says one day, checking the chronometer, “So, what chu want’a do? Do ya want’a maybe play a game? Loser buys the winner drinks at next port.”

“Back in my slavin’ days, the Kree Masters had us play a ‘game.’ We would wrastle each other. The one who got pinned was beat down, got no supper, an’ was caged in a small pen fer the night. The one what pinned his man was given meat an’ drink an’ spent the night in his Master’s bed,” Yondu says, staring directly into Kraglin’s increasingly-disturbed face. “Weren’t no winners.”

Kraglin’s watery blue eyes are wide with horror.

“Yeeeeeeeah, I was thinkin’ a game of poker… or maybe some darts. Somethin’ to pass the time ‘til evenin’ mess hall.”

“Sometimes, we had’a fight with pokers. That’s how I got this scar.” Yondu pulls his jumpsuit away at the neck and points to a jagged puffy slice across his shoulder.

“Darts it is then. You’ll like it. Darts’re like tiny arrows.”

 

* * *

 

**Present Day**

Yondu can’t find Kraglin in the showers. Disappointed, he makes his way back towards his quarters. Perhaps it was time to accept he’d never had a chance with his first mate and enjoy their friendship as it was. They worked well together, had an excellent rapport actually; it would have been unwise to throw sex into the mix.

Passing a side cupboard, he hears rustling from within then the resonant clang of a dropped bucket.

Or maybe Kraglin had opted for the privacy of a janitorial closet for his late-night indiscretions. Yondu slides open the door.

The sly smile adorning his lips gives way to shock at the scene before him.

Kraglin and Quill are tangled together, locked in a passionate embrace. Quill’s coat is crumpled on the floor along with his shirt while Kraglin’s jumpsuit is splayed open revealing the crinkly curls of chest hair trailing from his neck down to where Peter’s hand dips inside his pants. Facing the door, Kraglin sees Yondu first, and disentangles his tongue from Pete’s, pushing the youth back slightly.

“Occupied!” Peter shouts over his shoulder without turning around. He tries to capture Kraglin’s kiss again, but Kraglin cups a hand over Pete’s mouth, still staring at the source of their interruption beyond him.

“The fuck is goin’ on ‘ere?!” Yondu bellows.

Quill goes deadly still and his back straight when he recognizes the voice. Spinning around, he says, “It’s not what it looks like!”

“…Really?” Kraglin says incredulously from behind him. Usually, the kid is much better at coming up with excuses.

Yondu grabs Quill’s discarded clothing, tossing it over the boy’s head before pushing him out of the closet. “Scram, son,” he grumbles, barely contained rage in his voice.

Momentum propels Peter to stumble forward. He whips around to face his furious mentor. “It’s not his fault, Yondu, so you don’t have to… you know.” He tries to whistle but blows a raspberry instead.

“Git out, Quill!” Yondu barks before turning to face his first mate, who is already buckling his jumpsuit closed. If Kraglin is going to die, he’d rather not do so with his dick out.

Kraglin starts to explain, “In my defense, sir, Pete came onto me, an’–“

“Am I really that hideous?” Yondu interrupts, softly.

“…What?”

Voice growing in volume, he accuses, “You’d rather fuck a kid–“

“Adult,” Kraglin interjects.

“–than me.”

The ensuing silence is uncomfortable for both parties.

“…Not necessarily,” Kraglin finally says, carefully looking anywhere but at his captain.

“Oh really? Then why haven’t we fucked? You’ve slept yer way through the entire crew. Hell, even li’l Quill got a taste. Yet me? Nothin’.”

Kraglin’s nervous expression twists into a scowl. “Wait…Yer sayin’ yer entitled to my dick?”

“Ain’t that,” Yondu replies quickly. He squints his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “It’s just… I know I ain’t much to look at, but chu fucked _Taserface_ ‘fore me, and he looks like maggots ate through an overgrown scrote tumor. It’s a blow to the ego, I suppose… I don’t know, I thought chu liked me, like we was friends.”

Kraglin relaxes. “We are friends. Hell, ain’t nobody I’d rather have at my back in a gunfight. That’s why we don’t fuck.”

“Is that right?” Yondu says flatly, clearly unconvinced.

“’Member when we first met, ya weren’t in a right state ta consent to nothin’ proper fer months, years maybe, and then… Well, now it’s diff’rent. Retch? Tazie? Horuz? Shit goes south, it don’t matter none. We work together, but we don’t have ta like each other. Sometimes that’s the point. Ya just want’a pound someone ya don’t like an’ don’t care to talk to after. Tullk an’ Oblo are my friends, but they have a type that usually ain’t me, so our friendship could prob’ly survive the odd one-night stand. You an’ me?” Kraglin trails off, then says, “I ain’t so sure… if we don’t work out… I’d rather not risk it.”

Yondu never knew how to meet pity with anything other than derision.

“Don’t feed me that bullshit, Kraglin. Quill’s practically yer li’l brother, an’ you had no qualms dippin’ yer pen in that ink. If ya ain’t attracted to me, no need to let me down easy. I can take the truth. I ain’t some wiltin’ virgin with the confidence o’ a wet paper bag. I don’t need no pity cop-out,” he rages, in direct contradiction to all his thoughts and actions leading up to that point.

Kraglin doesn’t cower. “Okay yeah, Pete was a mistake. Got caught up in the moment, but ya know the kid. Once he’s got his mind set on somethin’… he’s a persistent li’l fucker. He seemed so sad askin’ fer sex advice, an’ then we was kissin’, an’… I got a li’l carried away, I admit it. I’m right sorry ‘bout that one, but I ain’t ‘pologizin’ fer the rest. I don’t owe nobody nothin’.”

“No you don’t,” Yondu responds, his quiet tone belying the anger simmering beneath it. “Hell, if ya want ta make a go fer Quill, he’s all grown, I reckon.”

“No thanks,” Kraglin slides forward to squeeze the other man’s elbow. “An’ fer the record, yer right sexy. I never could resist a man with a deadly whistle an’ a sense of humor,” he mumbles softly with a slight smile.

“Or any man,” Yondu spits out before he can stop himself.

Kraglin freezes then snarls, “You know what? Fuck you, sir.”

He pushes past him and stalks off.

“That an offer?” Yondu calls out to his retreating back.

Kraglin doesn’t turn around, stiffly flipping him off over his shoulder in humiliated reproach.

It feels good, in some sick way, to reject Kraglin’s advances after being rebuffed himself. Unfortunately, the self-righteous satisfaction doesn’t last long.

 

* * *

 

“Did chu review Tullk’s flight plan?” Yondu asks Kraglin the following day.

“Yes, sir.” Kraglin’s tone is cold and crisp as a winter’s night in Contraxia. “He charted a course that avoids the Khloral Asteroid Belt but makes up time with a jump outside Schuur. Overall, it’s the safest, most efficient route to the drop point.”

Yondu grunts in approval, walking back to his side of the Bridge, without a wasted word between them.

Lucky for the Eclector and her crew, her Captain and First Mate are professionals and refuse to shirk their duties over interpersonal drama. However, unlucky for the two parties involved, the nature of their jobs required they work in close proximity. And so it was that Yondu and Kraglin continued to orbit the other during their shared work shifts, refusing to stand near each other, much less speak about topics not related to work.

 _A lover’s spat,_ Oblo had whispered to Scrote. _S’only temporary. Things’ll improve by evenin’ shift._

They don’t.

Days pass, and in the aftermath of their falling-out, Kraglin’s promiscuity appears to increase, though Yondu can’t tell if Kraglin had upped his sexual activity or simply ceased bothering to conceal his personal affairs from his notice.

Yondu presses his hand to the door panel, needing to retrieve more toilet paper for his personal bogs from a nearby storage closet.

Inside, Kraglin is on his knees in front of a mostly-clothed Taserface, whose zipper is down, his thick cock pumping in and out of Kraglin’s plush mouth. Taserface’s knees buckle slightly as he grabs a nearby shelving unit for support. His scarred face is pinched in muted pleasure as he tries to quiet his moans.

Hearing the smooth glide of the door behind him, Kraglin pauses, pulling out Taserface’s dick with a slick pop, to peer over his shoulder. When he sees the identity of their voyeur, he turns back towards his part-time paramour.

“Do ya mind closin’ the door on yer way out, sir,” Kraglin says dully over his shoulder, idly pumping Taserface’s dick, wet and glistening with his saliva.

Face carefully neutral, Yondu reaches in to pluck a roll from the nearest shelf to the side then silently exits.

 

* * *

 

If Kraglin was willing to end their friendship over something Yondu had said that may have been a _touch_ uncalled for, then fine. Yondu has never needed companionship or conversation or friends. He doesn’t need anyone.

“Quill,” Yondu approaches Peter during their break.

“What?” Pete replies irritably, lifting his headphones to hover just over his ear. The crew had been on-edge ever since the relationship between their two most-senior officers had noticeably cooled, but the boy is always his surly, dissatisfied self. In fact, Yondu was beginning to suspect this was less of a phase than a permanent state of being.

Still, there were surprisingly few people with whom Yondu would even consider spending any amount of leisure time. And perhaps Quill and he could use the time to reconnect, to bond. He had to admit he missed the days when Quill would run to him for protection from Horuz’s fork. Of course, at the time, he had kicked the child away, forcing Quill to conclude he had to more-or-less fend for himself while Yondu had actually stood silent and threatening behind him against Horuz and other crewmembers who may do the boy harm. It had been annoying, and Yondu hated nearly every second of it, but hindsight always seemed to cast a sepia veneer of nostalgia over his memories.

Yondu holds out his datapad, revealing the title screen of his selected holo-vid. “This ‘ere is one o’ the finest pieces o’ cinema ya ever laid eyes on. _Foot-loss_? Shit compared to _Return to Blood Ridge_ , where they lose the whole leg. I could be convinced to let chu watch it with me, if ya play yer cards right.”

Peter exhales loudly. “Why don’t you just make up with Kraglin already? It’s really not that big of a deal.” He crosses his arms petulantly and slouches deep into his seat.

Yondu knows that look. He scowls. “You mad at me, too, son?”

“Just… why’d you have to go and fuck it up for me? I almost had him, Yondu,” Peter complains.

“What chu goin’ on ‘bout now?”

Peter rolls his eyes as if his grievance is obvious. “Fucking Kraglin is practically a right of passage on this ship, and he’d been resisting my advances all week! Afterwards, I tried to ask if he’d like to continue, but no dice.”

Yondu can’t breathe. It’s all too uncomfortably familiar.

He clears the bile from the back of his throat and manages a stiff: “If he said no, then that’s the end o’ it.”

“He was saying yes, but then you had to barge in and ruin it for me. I know you two are fucking, but he’s slept with literally everyone else on this ship, and you don’t bat an eye, but when it’s me, all of the sudden, it’s some big fucking relationship-ending issue. It doesn’t make any sense… unless…” Quill’s eyes go wide as realization dawns on him. “No. No. No. It’s not him. It’s me! You wanted to be my first– Ow!” Peter rubs the back of his head where Yondu cuffed him a bit harder than he meant to during his tirade.

Scrunching his face into a waspish frown, he continues, “Well, too late for that. Left my virginity at a Contraxian whorehouse, thank-you-very-much.”

Yondu growls at his young protégé. “First, yer gittin’ too big fer yer britches, boy. Ain’t nearly enough credits in the galaxy to pay me ta fuck ya. Second, ya can’t leverage yer friendship with Kraglin fer sex he don’t want. It ain’t right or fair. An’ third, no means no. It don’t mean ‘yes,’ ‘convince me,’ or ‘not yet.’ Thought I taught chu better’an that.”

“It wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t…” Peter stumbles over his justifications, his head drooped in shame.

Maybe it was time for Yondu to follow his own advice.


	4. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraglin and Yondu rekindle their friendship, with additional benefits. It’s the beginning of everything.

Yondu knows what he has to do, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

He approaches his first mate during their break. “Kraglin…”

“Yes sir,” Kraglin replies, chilly as ever.

“…Meet me at the Bridge in ten ta review the take from last week.”

“Aye Cap’n,” Kraglin says. When Yondu doesn’t immediately exit his presence, he asks in the same stiff painfully-professional tone, “Is there anythin’ else you’ll be needin’, sir?”

Yondu can’t do it. It’s hard enough to admit wrongdoing under normal circumstances, harder still when Kraglin is looking at him like that, eyes distant and detached.

“That’ll be all fer now,” Yondu replies, walking past him as per their unspoken agreement to spend as little time in each other’s presence as possible given their job descriptions.

What Yondu needs is to be alone with Kraglin, where he can have his undivided attention and preferably not have to see his face when he speaks his piece. It’s not so much that he’s afraid of anything or anyone, much less his first mate – Yondu Udonta ain’t afraid of shit – but it would be significantly _easier_ if Kraglin was contained and not visible when Yondu admitted that perhaps he had been a bit unfair in his recent actions, and as such, he would like to retract certain statements impugning Kraglin’s character. In acknowledgement and gratitude of Yondu’s magnanimity, Kraglin may then consider a mutual lifting of the ban on their friendship, restoring the status quo.

Yondu can imagine the resolution perfectly.

All he needs is the right opportunity, the ideal situation to spring this conversation on his once-and-future friend.

 

* * *

 

“Is someone there?” Kraglin calls out from within a stall. He could have sworn he heard the deadbolt on the main door to the bogs activate when someone entered approximately three minutes after him. He had heard only one set of boots, which meant the person hadn’t locked up for a semi-private hook-up. Even more troubling, the mystery man had yet to enter any of the other stalls nor did Kraglin hear a stream of piss splashing against the urinal trough.

In fact, he hears the approaching footsteps come to a stop just outside his stall.

Kraglin checks the knives hidden in his sleeves and ankle. If it came down to a fight, he’d be able to gut his would-be assassin… unless the man just shot him through the door that is. Kraglin is furious. This can’t be how he goes out: murdered on the shitter by some cowardly assailant who won’t even look him in the eye as he pulls the trigger.

“Kraglin, you in there?” Yondu knocks on the stall door, interrupting Kraglin’s silent cursing of his imminent ignominious end.

“… What’re you doin’, sir? Why’d chu lock the door?” Kraglin asks, nonplussed. Cap’n damn near almost gave him a heart attack.

“I wanted to talk to ya. Alone,” comes the reply from the other side.

Kraglin sighs, roughly wiping his face from forehead to chin in exasperation. “An’ this’s really the only time an’ place you could’a done that?”

“Seemed as good a time as any.” It was really the best way Yondu could ensure a captive audience.

“Well, what do ya want then?”

“I wanted t’ see if perhaps we could put aside our diff’rences an’ go back to the way things were before. We both said some things–“

“You said some things,” Kraglin corrects him.

“…Some things were said that weren’t meant,” Yondu amends. “Hopefully, we can fergit an’ move passed it, yeah? What do ya say?”

“I say I didn’t hear no ‘pology, sir,” Kraglin points out. Yondu can almost imagine him crossing his arms in stubborn resolve.

Yondu stands silent on his side of the door, leaning forward so his forehead rests against the corroded metal. Was Kraglin really going to make him say it? He hears a flush and the turn of the stall lock. He has three seconds to make up his mind on a course of action before Kraglin exits, and he loses the benefit of a physical barrier between them.

Two.

Not much time now.

One.

Yondu steps back as the door swings in.

Zero.

Kraglin looks at him in expectation shifting to disappointment when an apology is not forthcoming. He pushes past Yondu on his way to the sink, purposely bumping into his shoulder. He obviously doesn’t mean that much to Yondu if their long-standing friendship wasn’t worth two little well-earned words.

When he shuts off the tap and turns to leave, Yondu is standing in front of the main door panel, blocking his exit.

“Do ya mind?”

When Yondu stays motionless, arms crossed and shoulders slumped, an irritated frown alighting his downturned features, Kraglin rolls his eyes, reaching out to physically move his captain if necessary.

Yondu catches him before he can make contact. “M’sorry.”

Kraglin retracts his hand, surprised. Yondu lightly holds on to it, following its retreat back and down to settle between them.

“I’m sorry fer sayin’ what I said ‘bout chu an’ implyin’ that you owed me ‘cause o’ all the other men you’ve been with. I was wrong.”

Kraglin stands, processing his apology, trying to formulate his next move. It’s long enough that Yondu begins to think he just might have broken his first mate. He doesn’t blame him. It’s a rare occurrence when Yondu knows he’s done wrong, rarer still that he actually admits it out loud.

“…Okay,” Kraglin finally replies, fingers interlacing Yondu’s own.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe they ended it with ‘It was all a dream.’ What a fuckin’ cop-out!” Kraglin hollers at the holo-projection, angrily shutting off _Return to Blood Ridge: The Final Assault_ mid-credits.

“Why’d chu have ta go an’ turn it off. I wanted ta see the credits,” Yondu complains. He leans over Kraglin to swipe the datapad and continue the broadcast. “If we don’t, we won’t know who wrote this garbage. Then, we can’t send ‘em a severed hand from the lost-an’-found.”

“Good thinkin’,” Kraglin nods in approval. “Maybe throw in a surprise from the septic tank.”

“That’ll learn ‘em.”

Kraglin laughs, lightly punching Yondu in the shoulder. “Ya know, I missed this… Missed chu.”

“Ya gittin’ soft on me, Kraglin?” Yondu says without much thought, still squinting to decipher the rolling small print.

“No really, I like how you look at me, like someone ya want’a hang out with instead’a just a fuck, somethin’ to scratch an itch. I like that when ya want’a meet up one-on-one, our clothes stay on,” Kraglin tells him. He shrugs. “Guess I didn’t want that to change.”

Turning to face his first mate, Yondu notes the nervous twitch of his fingers pulling at the edge of his sleeve.

“It don’t have to.”

 

* * *

 

**Six Weeks Later**

Yondu knows what he said, and he meant every word. Kraglin is his friend, and if he needed them to stay just as they were, then Yondu would respect that.

Still–

Sometimes when he meets Kraglin’s blue gaze over the rim of a coffee mug or the man runs his long thin calloused fingertips over the back of Yondu’s bruised knuckles, his body positively hums with a soft unfamiliar rush tickling the depths of his gut at one simple question: _what if._ It was this more than anything that drove him to schedule more frequent stops at various pleasure planets scattered along their flight path, as he rented out prostitutes and bots two or three at a time, hoping to squash his _what if_ and bury its corpse under purchased orgasms.

Unfortunately, if his purpose had been to chase away whatever feelings he may have for Kraglin, it had the opposite effect. The nights of commercialized sex paradoxically highlighted his peculiar problem, like a desperate castaway driven to drinking seawater can never hope to quench his thirst. It was as if the tantalizing possibility of _what if_ had awoken something deep inside, and not even the synthetic touch of a Contraxian pleasure-bot could sate him. Staring into their dark purple eyes half-lidded in a mimicry of pleasure, Yondu feels empty instead of fulfilled.

And so it was that while sparring with Kraglin (to sharpen his physical prowess as he asserted), Yondu would indulge in a little incidental contact with his first mate.

Yondu never claimed to be a saint. And as long as Kraglin never found out, what was the harm?

Presently, Kraglin has Yondu pinned, forearm planted firmly across his upper back, left hand splayed on his right shoulder and Yondu’s wrists captured together in his right. Panting from exertion right next to Yondu’s ear, Kraglin’s crotch fits snugly against his ass.

Yondu can feel his own erection straining against his too-tight pants as his breath catches in his throat and he bucks back against the cage of the body above him.

“What the fuck!” Kraglin lets go. Sitting back on his haunches, he coughs nervously as Yondu pulls himself up, trying and failing to conceal his excitement. “Um… Cap’n–”

Yondu cuts him off: “Won’t happen again.”

Instead of leaving, Kraglin edges closer. “You know I meant what I said before, Cap’n. Yer one sexy motherfucker,” he murmurs before kissing him, tongue breeching the seal of lips to tangle with Yondu’s own.

Yondu slips forward, his legs crooked over Kraglin’s thighs to bring them closer, until he’s practically in his lap. Kraglin slides his hands up Yondu’s thin shirt, breaking his kiss to pull it up and over his head. He’s already unbuckled his belt, but he stops before unzipping his pants, choosing to splay his fingers out on Yondu’s clothed thighs instead. Yondu can feel his apprehension in the sudden tensing of Kraglin’s body. He abruptly pushes him back.

Breathing hard as his head droops against Kraglin’s shoulder, he asks, “Havin’ second thoughts?”

“…No,” Kraglin replies, unconvincingly. Yondu raises his head to face him.

“You know, this don’t change nothin’,” he lies, but he doesn’t know it yet.

Kraglin hesitates. “We still friends?”

“The best,” he confirms.

“The others… I ain’t stoppin’ fer you, ya know. It ain’t like we’re actually together.” _At least not yet._

“Don’t right expect anythin’ diff’rent.” _For now._

“Just so we’re clear,” Kraglin says.

There’s a pause as both consider their next move.

“You sure this is what you want?” Yondu asks.

Kraglin smiles. “I think that’s my line.”

And Yondu wants to; he wants it so much that his dick curses him for what he says next, but he needs to be sure Kraglin wants it too. So Yondu stares at him, hands lightly stroking Kraglin’s waist in tight circles. He doesn’t wander any lower, waiting respectfully for an affirmative answer. “We don’t hafta do shit, you know.”

“I want to,” Kraglin says as he closes the distance between them.

 

* * *

 

**Three Months Later**

“I knew it!” Peter shouts upon witnessing a rather surprising scene after barging in on Yondu and Kraglin’s weekly strategy meeting.

“Quill, what the fuck are ya doin’ ‘ere. Git out,” Yondu says without looking up, hunched over a datapad where Kraglin had compiled their monthly stocking list.

“Wait’ll the others hear about this. I knew you guys weren’t fucking during your ‘strategy meetings.’ Oblo owes me twenty credits!” He quickly snaps a photo for proof, making sure to capture the chronometer in the background.

“Right Pete, because the kitchens magically have food that lasts between ports without someone puttin’ in the purchase order,” Kraglin says blandly, increasing the amount of salt meat in one row to account for new recruits they picked up on Fruket. “The Eclector don’t run ‘erself.”

“Well, there’s always the emergency food supply…” Yondu suggests, glancing over at Peter and giving him a slow once-over.

“I’ll just… leave you guys to it then,” Peter says, slinking away from the open door and closing it behind him.

Kraglin stands up to stretch out his back. “Now that that’s over… Want’a have some fun?”

“What chu have in mind?” Yondu asks, slumping back in his chair and extending his legs out in front of him.

Kraglin places his hands on Yondu’s shoulders and leans over, giving him a lopsided grin from above. “Oh, I got some ideas… I was thinkin’ you and me, we could try out that stuff I procured from our last job.”

“Procured?” Yondu repeats, raising an eye ridge.

“Okay, nicked from Nova Corp last we got caught. Got me some handcuffs an’ a baton I made into a spreader bar. You want in?”

“You kinky sonuvabitch… Sounds like a plan, but first let’s play a round,” Yondu suggests, grinning at his first mate’s sullen expression.

Kraglin heads towards the opposite wall to set up the dartboard.

“What chu want’a play fer?” Yondu asks him. “The usual? Yer already in fer 3,650 credits.”

Kraglin thinks for a moment, then: “Winner gits to top.”

Yondu considers the other man, chewing his lip in thought.

“…Deal.”

Yondu stands in front of the board, eyes ahead and mind laser-focused on his desired target, he releases his dart across the room.

Perpendicularly. In the wrong direction.

The dart bounces off the metal hull of the Eclector with a high-pitched plink, rolling and coming to rest behind the leg of a chair.

“Cap’n, the board’s that way,” Kraglin informs him.

“Huh,” Yondu looks languidly in the indicated direction. “Guess I missed. Yer turn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap, people! Thank you for everyone who read, Kudo-ed, and commented on this fic. I hope you all enjoyed it and are thankful I didn't end it with Yondu waking up after his fight with Kraglin.
> 
> It was all a dream...
> 
> Just kidding :)


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